


February Words #15: Shelf

by StaringAtTheTwinSuns



Series: February Words (2018) [14]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Family, Miscarriage, Multi, OT3, POV Multiple, Polyamory, Siblings, pregnancy loss
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-15
Updated: 2018-02-15
Packaged: 2019-03-19 00:17:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 805
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13692837
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StaringAtTheTwinSuns/pseuds/StaringAtTheTwinSuns
Summary: TRIGGER WARNING: PREGNANCY LOSSLeia knows she's lost her baby when it happens... that even though her family should have been five, they will forever be four. But no one in the family will ever forget the little one... not even her brother, Ben.





	February Words #15: Shelf

**Author's Note:**

> TRIGGER/CONTENT WARNING: MISCARRIAGE/PREGNANCY LOSS.
> 
> I chose "Chose not to use warnings" because I feel that this is a serious trigger that does not fall under any of the "Archive Warnings" provided here. This fic does NOT contain noncon, underage, violence, or major character death but does contain mention of pregnancy loss.
> 
> So. This is a sad one. Not sure why I was in a sad mood today, but. I was. I totally understand if anyone prefers not to read. <3

~8 ABY~

 

Leia knows.

Leia knows the moment it happens, the moment the little something within her becomes nothing. 

Her knees shake. All she can do is sit down.

She knows it’s strange that she’s not even crying. She knows how it would look, if there were anyone there to see. Her back is straight and her head is high, but her chin is starting to tremble. So she bites her lip and she tries to clear her mind, but she’s not a Jedi. Not like Luke. She  _ sees _ .

There's a picnic, by a lake, on a world that looks like Alderaan, that she told herself was a vision, not a dream. But it looks the same now, regardless of the tiny, invisible, gaping maw of a hole that’s inside her. And she hates herself, for letting herself believe.

She is down on her knees then, digging under the bed, for the box she’d brought home only a week before. The moment she had known for sure it was a little girl growing inside her. She was going to give it to Han and Luke, when she was far enough to trust herself to tell.

She opens it so carefully, although there’s no more reason to keep the little dress perfect now. She spreads it out on her lap—the little arms spread wide in a hug, the skirt spreading to the edges of her thighs.

Leia breathes.

Each breath—one in, one out—feels like a gift she should have been able to have given.

It should feel like enough, her family of four. It is. But it still isn't.

Because they were five once, and even though Leia is the only one who knows it, she will know forever that there should have been one more.

***

Luke knows.

He knows the moment Leia does, from the other side of the galaxy, and he pulls his X-wing into a jerky U-turn and says, “Artoo, take us home.”

Artoo squeals in complaint, but they can apologize to the Republic later. Right now he needs to be at Leia’s side.

It’s a short jump, maybe half an hour, but that’s half an hour too long, and his heart has all that dead, empty time to twist itself, wring itself dry.

He lands in the yard at a terrible angle, crushing the flowers and making Artoo scream again. And then he’s running, running, running. Knowing it’s too late, but needing to get there anyway.

She’s just sitting there, straight-backed, a tiny dress on her lap, staring off into the wall.

“Leia.” He kneels beside her. “Are you alright?”

But of course she’s not.

Luke knows.

He knows. He’s known from the moment Ben was born, that they would never have another living child.

It was wrong to keep it from her. But he hadn’t wanted to accept it. He'd wanted to believe, wanted to try.

Anger wells up in him, but Luke pushes back, chokes on it. She is here now. She is still here, at his side.

And when she looks up, with deep, injured, dry eyes, she says, “We have to tell Han.”

***

Han knows.

He knows, maybe, when Leia won’t come out of the bedroom. He knows when Luke crash-lands on the lawn.

And if he doesn’t know then, he definitely knows when they come out to find him together. How could he not? They’ve been trying for so long.

“Han.” He can hear Leia’s sob, pushed back so deep it sounds calm.

“Han.” He can hear Luke fighting to maintain that Jedi peace that still comes so hard.

He doesn’t want to make them say it. He doesn’t want to hear it in their words. So he just takes the dress from Leia and says, “I know. I know.”

And his arms are around them, their arms are around him, and he’s not sure if he’s soaking in their love or giving his own. He wants to fill them all—all the cracks, all the holes, all the heartache. But he’s aching too, for this kid he never knew existed until she didn’t anymore.

***

 

~12 ABY~

 

Ben knows.

He’s always kind of suspected, but when he finds the box, not really hidden on a shelf filled with his mom’s old shoes, he knows.

He’s only seven, but he’s good at the Force. And that little box, before he even opens it, is lined with traces, like faint little ghosts. He likes them. They feel warm.

After that, he takes it out sometimes. When he feels really sad or alone.

He doesn’t tell his parents. He thinks they'd just get angry.

But his Dad Luke comes up to him one day, puts his hand on Ben's shoulder. "She loved you," he says.

Ben freezes. "Who loved me?"

"Your sister."

Ben just nods. "I know."


End file.
